Overrun (3 page)

But Slavik did not let go. With
white knuckles, he gripped the roof ledge while another squad member dove to
anchor his feet. Slavik's knees banged hard against the building’s crumbling
brick sending a sharp searing jolt through his body that shook loose his grip.

Hanging upside down and being
held by his ankles, Slavik watched the body plummet to the ground. It landed
with a loud crash across the hood of another passing jeep.

The soldier holding him pulled
him quickly back over the ledge and to his feet. They both snatched up their
assault rifles and started to shoot. The vehicle quickly backed away from the
building disintegrating beneath the bombardment of their weapons fire.

Sand and dirt churned the air
around. The scientist’s body rolled from across the hood and landed on its side
across the shredded terrain.

Slavik squeezed off his last
four shots sending a trail of exploding roadway into the air after the fleeing
jeep. None of them finding their mark, the jeep quickly turned a corner and
disappeared down the deserted street.

Slavik threw his empty assault
rifle to the ground in disgust. It made a loud clack against the rooftop.

"Tempest and Bloodshoe, get
that last motherfucker!” he screamed at the two men next to him. “We’re outta
time! We have to go now!”

"We’re clear here,
sir," Bloodshoe answered him. “Everyone up here is on the ground. Either
scouts gave us a wrong count or one got away. But there’s no one left up here
but us."

“Son of bitch,” Slavik said
quietly and then raised his voice again. “Alright, get them down to the
incinerator room. We’ll cover up the best we can up here. Dump the bodies and
get the hell out of here on foot.”

Slavik backed towards the door
still looking at the rooftop.

“We’ve probably got five minutes
before the crew of that jeep reports us in and brings down the house.”

Slavik turned away from the men
and left the rooftop. Tempest and Bloodshoe followed after him. Each scanned
their weapons across the lab searching for the one that might have been missed.

They backed their way into the
stairway and turned to find the members of Knight’s squad that had been sent to
investigate the extended firefight on the roof.

Slavik was there relaying to the
lead man what had just transpired and that slipping out alone and on foot was
now their only chance to escape undiscovered into the darkness of the surrounding
night.

* * *

Knight and Baxter had just
dumped the last of the soldiers killed in the security wing into the blazing
furnace when Slavik and his men burst into the incinerator chamber with their
weapons raised.

"It didn't work!"
Slavik yelled. His voice broke abruptly into the grim nightmare the two Vulture
officers were performing in the room. He stopped to cough and vomit from the
smell of the burning flesh.

"We didn't get them all.
One, maybe two, got away. We're going to have to blast the building and run. We
don’t have much time before reinforcements arrive."

Knight's expression remained
calm and unchanged at the news.

"Tempest and Baxter, set up
the detonators,” he barked. “I want nothing left on the rooftop or in the
security wing. Knock the whole fucking thing down. I don’t give a fuck. Then
follow your individual escape routes out. Go now!"

The two men left the room
without a response.

When they were gone, Knight,
Slavik and Bloodshoe, the remaining members of the two teams, dug into their
packs for the small metallic containers that contained their predetermined
individual escape routes.

Finding his first, Slavik
punched it against the wall and dropped the cracked plastic on the floor. When
he did, a loud shot ripped through the air.

Slavik whirled around to see
Knight fall to the floor clutching what remained of his left leg in his hand.

Slavik raised his weapon, but
Bloodshoe had already downed the missing scientist from the rooftop in a blast
of weapons fire.

Bloodshoe ran and scooped up the
scientist’s quivering still-dying body and hauled it across his back. Taking
less than two steps, he dumped it into the incinerator to burn with the others.

Slavik turned back to where
Knight writhed in agony on the ground. His left leg was torn in half below the
knee. Sweat beaded in a solid line across his forehead, and his lips trembled
from the shock.

He then noticed a small hole
just below Knight’s neck and a much larger wound in the center of his back.

"Orders still stand,”
Knight gasped through clenched teeth. "Leave the jeeps and your gear.
Separate and get out. Blow the place when you're clear."

Slavik looked down at Knight.
His body shook with both rage and fear at his feet.

Overwhelmed by another sudden
urge to retch, Slavik turned away. He hung his head between his legs and tried
to spit away the vomit and bile that caked his throat. A sharp tug at the back
of his leg made him turn back to face his dying commander on the floor.

"Understand what happens if
they find us here," Knight wheezed. "They will break anyone left back
here alive. Everything must be completely…"

Slavik yanked out his sidearm
and shot him in the center of his forehead before he finished. He bent down and
lugged his body across his shoulders.

He and Bloodshoe avoided each other’s
guilty stares while they dumped the last two corpses into the incinerator’s
raging fire.

Slavik watched Knight's body
disappear in the heat. The flames crackled loud and hot.

* * *

Tempest and Baxter sprinted up
two flights of stairs to a ground-level door on the opposite side of the
building from their jeeps. They hurriedly set the explosives from their packs
along the top of the stairwell and mounted a remote receiving unit along the
wall.

Tempest pressed a button in
Baxter's backpack, and a light near the top of the remote cast a faint green
glow through the darkened hall.

"Five minutes,"
Tempest whispered to him. "Should at least give us a chance to get
out."

Bloodshoe nodded in acknowledgment.
Their eyes locked briefly as they conveyed silent farewells in the darkness
outside the building. Each wordlessly wished the other well.

Baxter turned around silently
while Tempest activated the final switch that would send arming instructions to
the explosives. In less than five minutes, the compound would be gone.

They shook hands while sirens
wailed in the distance then separated to escape to the fates awaiting them in
the night.

* * *

Slavik ran from the incinerator
room along the ground floor to the rear of the building. He threw a chair
through a large window and dove into a darkened alley leading away from the
facility. He knew the explosives set by his men would soon ignite.

Sounds of sirens, vehicles, and
soldiers’ voices rushed from the distance. Slavik hoped they would arrive in
time for the blast. He leapt to his feet and tossed his backpack containing his
own explosive supply back into the building. He jabbed his weapon into its
holster and sprinted for the protection of the night.

He had only run three steps when
something grabbed at his foot. Intense pain surged through his entire lower
body knocking him face first into the dirt. He looked back in horror to see
only blood and shattered bone at the end of his ankle. His right foot was
completely gone.

Twenty feet away, a soldier
lowered his weapon and ran towards where he tried to stand back up again from
the ground. A second man behind the first centered an assault rifle over his
shoulder directly across Slavik's chest.

Slavik grabbed his own weapon
and jabbed its barrel into his mouth. Before he could squeeze the trigger, the
approaching soldier dove across his squirming body and ripped the rifle from
his grasp.

The soldier spread his arms and
legs across Slavik's back. Using his weight and bulky gear, he rolled him over
and pressed him face down into the ground.

A jeep pulled quickly up. Two
soldiers jumped out and hurriedly grabbed Slavik by the shoulders and tossed
him in the back. They signaled the soldier near the building still covering the
area with his weapon, and he also ran to jump onboard.

The last thing Slavik remembered
before blackness overtook him was the eruption of a giant fireball tearing
through the area they had just left.

Shards of glass spewed from the exploding
building showering the racing jeep and its unprotected occupants. The soldier
holding Slavik relaxed his grip for a quick second to yank at a piece that
buried itself into the back of his shin. The building structures they raced
past echoed with his scream.

The jeep sped to the J.G.U.
compound not far down the road. The J.G.U. soldiers stared in silence at the
flaming building falling behind them in the distance. With his face pressed by
strong hands to its metal floor, the rest of Slavik's body bounced violently
about the rear of the jeep.

* * *

To his dismay, Slavik awoke
bloodied, bruised and bound to a chair at the center of a large empty room. He
blinked several times trying to focus on the sight before him.

A short distance away, two rows
of soldiers faced him. About ten men in all, their rifles rested across their
shoulders and pressed tautly against their ears. Their eyes squinted through
rifle sights centered at his head and the middle of his chest.

“Your country!" An
English speaking voice boomed loudly from somewhere within the room. “What
rogue country do you represent?! We all know you did not just come to be here
on your own.”

Slavik didn’t speak and stared
dully at the men ahead.

A loud “crack” echoed throughout
the room. Smoke came from the weapon of one of the soldiers kneeling in the
first row. A piece of steel ripped into the bone and flesh of Slavik's left
knee.

Slavik’s neck snapped back, and
he shrieked in pain. His legs kicked up in the air toppling his chair over
backwards. A soldier standing further back in the room and not holding a weapon
walked slowly to Slavik’s chair and pulled him back up.

"Who are you?" the
voice thundered again.

Slavik’s lips set in a thin
line, and he again refused to speak.

Another shot tore into his
opposite knee. His body jerked and wobbled from the impact. This time his chair
did not fall. Slavik stared through half-open eyes at his bloodied legs. He
couldn’t tell if he was actually talking or just imagining it in his head.

A third shot took away his left
ear. A fourth tore into his shoulder. The fifth sailed directly into the center
of his heart. He was already dead by the time the sixth and final bullet
slammed into his brain.

The members of the firing squad
lowered their weapons and walked away. When they were gone, the two men from
the back of the room approached Slavik’s body.

They stepped carefully over the
fresh pools of blood it had left on the floor and wrapped large pieces of
plastic all around. Rolling him on his side across a stretcher, they carried
him from the room. A trail of blood gruesomely marked their path.

They brought him to the bottom
of a darkened stairwell and stopped before two large unlocked doors. One of the
men pulled the door closest to him open slightly. With a quick twist of their
wrists, they dumped Slavik’s body in.

Slavik’s body landed in a
disfigured lump next to three bloody corpses of the other members of his squad.
Discharge from their freshly opened wounds seeped through the holes of the
plastic and across the steel floor.

The unclosed eyes of Baxter,
Tempest and Bloodshoe stared out from beneath the reddened plastic. They looked
out unknowingly into the blackness unaware of what they had unleashed and what
their failure that day had ultimately caused to have begun.

United States Administration Dome

Two figures moved lightly about
the darkness.

Daniel J. Baldwin, minister of
state and most senior adviser to the President, lowered himself into a chair.
Down the hall amidst the shadows, War Minister Peter Faulken walked towards the
outside door of the presidential office.

The light scratch of a match
followed by the quiet pop of its sudden flame interrupted the solemn silence
permeating the empty corridor. The thin orange dot marking the tip of the lit
cigar bobbed up and down the darkness while Faulken moved through the hall.

Baldwin slumped in the chair and
let out a long breath. Another thirty seconds passed and then his voice
interrupted the silence.

"Is the President
aware?"

The flaming tip of the cigar
turned and came back towards him. Faulken’s heavy shoes dragged roughly across
the hard floor. For a moment it was the only sound.

"The President has been
partially briefed on what has occurred."

"Partially briefed on what
has occurred?" Baldwin said with a waver of panic edging his voice.
"That's not my goddamn question. There is more going on here than what has
just occurred. It goes way beyond the situation we are dealing with right
now."

"His ignorance in certain
matters is completely necessary in the eventuality..."

"In the eventuality any of
our illegal foreign military activities are discovered?!" Baldwin said
hotly from his seat. "Is that what you are about to say? Ever since
construction first began on the domes, mere presence on any land that is not
entirely your own is considered a trespass. We should not goddamn be even out
there! For God’s sake even presence on land controlled by your allies is
considered suspect.”

“The President’s denials will
only be more real if he believes them to be truth himself. The world has become
too frightening to risk anything else."

"This is not something we
should be fucking around with! By operating outside the presidency, we are
contributing to this fright."

The war minister did not
immediately respond. His cigar tip glowed a brighter orange from another deep
inhale.

"The President is not
aware, because we cannot risk him changing what has already been set in motion.
This was agreed upon long ago. To ensure danger does not arise."

"You are wrong. Danger has
arisen. And it is here."

Another silence followed before
Baldwin’s voice again filled the empty echo of the corridor.

"You know they're calling
it a genocide,” he said accusation coloring his tone. “It's being called a
genocide by both people in here and rumors starting to circulate on the
outside."

"A genocide?" The
glowing cigar tip dipped sharply away from Faulken’s mouth. "It’s far from
that. It is the only way for this country to survive. The only way this world
will survive. Rumors need to be handled until the plan has been fully
implemented. That time is coming soon."

"It’s not possible,”
Baldwin responded. “Not anymore. Many already know. Uprisings are imminent.
Whether it comes from the outside or somewhere within. Dissenting factions are beginning
to grow."

"People on the inside will
never revolt. Their presence here attests to their full consent and support of
what is about to occur. It's the price and responsibility they all chose to
accept before coming to live within."

"Their presence does not
pledge their allegiance to a genocide of those left behind."

“Actually, yes it does. Those
that came in, came in to survive. The ones they left behind…they’ve always
known their fate.”

For several minutes neither man
spoke.

"Did you ever stop to think
about what we have already lost?"

"I agree. Much has been
lost.” Faulken let out a breath and inhaled deeply again. “But much is also at
stake. The future of the United States has been in great jeopardy ever since
the J.G.U. rose to technological power. We were lucky to keep up with them in
dome construction like we did. We are lucky to still be here at all."

"Many whole countries are
still living on the outside," Baldwin’s voice began to sound tired.

"As so are we."

"As so are we,"
Baldwin repeated moving about uncomfortably in his chair.

"But those countries will
soon die,” Faulken’s voice became curt. His cigar tip again burned brightly.

“We have to ensure that we
outlast them. All of them. It is how this technological race has to be. And
when it’s finally over, the United States will take full lead in world affairs.
As it should be. It’s why Plan Zero was created. It’s why the Vulture team now
exists. It is why we are here today."

"How many others think like
you?" Baldwin asked straightening his back.

"Many more than you might
think."

Faulken walked to the side of
the wall and put out his cigar. An even more ominous darkness filled the hall.

"In fact your thoughts are
much the same."

"My thoughts are not the
same. Initiating Plan Zero is condemning our own citizens to death. When did
this ever become our right?"

"It became our right the
day the ozone layer finally died. The same day we took to burrowing into the
hills and digging ourselves underground. It is true many must and will die. But
this will give many more the opportunity to live.”

Baldwin lowered his head and
looked down at the ground.

“It is a grave thing. But I
assure you, it is necessary for this world to survive.”

“This is not how it should be.
The President cannot be given this option. Not to do this.”

"We have known since the
technology first became feasible this was someday going to take place.
Everything has been painstakingly prepared.”

“Plan Zero is based on unproven
technology only believed to work as designed," Baldwin said quietly.

“That’s not true…,” Faulken said
holding up a finger and pointing at Baldwin. “…not anymore. The Beam Cannon
Hardware is known to work. It will generate an artificial ozone. Only
implementation is holding us back."

"Implementation is holding
us back,” Baldwin whispered mockingly while shaking his head at the floor.

"You know as well as I, we
don’t have the room,” Faulken quickly answered him. “Each solar dish to power
the cannons occupies ten square miles. You almost need more than ten times the size
of land you are protecting just for that alone.”

Baldwin did not respond.

"And then there’s the
actual cannons and land space incinerated when they launch. Construction of the
satellites to deflect the bursts down and around will consume even greater
chunks of ground.”

Faulken paused for a moment
allowing his words to linger in the air and settle about.

"There is nowhere for them
to go," he said again. "The plan. It is the only way."

"No!" Baldwin spit
sharply. "You are describing the most unspeakable actions this world has
ever seen."

"Plan Zero is the only way
to implement the hardware,” Faulken’s voice was calm and smooth. “As a military
operation it will eliminate Japan and its power alliances as a superpower
threat. The world will no longer live under military fear. And the disease
plaguing the planet, by the time our own children have grown, will finally have
been erased.”

“This is unconscionable!”
Baldwin said hotly and rose up from his chair. “I don’t care what it is
ultimately supposed to accomplish!”

“No it is not,” Faulken said
softly again. “It is necessary.”

"We are plotting to
assassinate our own citizens and destroy our own cities! For god’s sakes!”
Baldwin’s voice raged through the hall.

“We are ridding ourselves of the
disease,” Faulken continued. “It will only pollute the future and impede our
progress. And we are clearing the land so dish and cannon construction can
finally take place.”

“We risk domestic revolt,”
Baldwin said leaning back while lowering his head and rubbing his temples.
“It’s sheer insanity.”

"It is why everything must
be kept secret,” Faulken said again. "For as long as possible. Public
knowledge could topple it all."

"We should abandon it
now," Baldwin said covering his face with his hands. "Before it
progresses further. Abandon it now and do our best to construct and enact the
technology. We have that responsibility. Not what you and your people
propose."

Baldwin let out another long
breath. His voice lowered and his tone became even more grim.

"It may no longer even be
an option. More domes than ever before are in construction, and it is no secret
that dome military is continuing to grow. We have done almost nothing to
conceal this. People are starting to know.”

Faulken looked at Baldwin and
then down the presidential hall.

“I don’t think it’s something we
can contain. Sooner or later, it’s going to get out."

Faulken took one last pause
before turning back towards the door to the presidential office.

"I agree," he said.
"The time is near. The world is at brink. It is in great danger of
slipping away."

Faulken’s breath sounded loudly
through the barren halls and empty darkness.

"It is the reason that we
are here today."

Baldwin sat still in his chair
while Faulken turned from him and slowly walked down the corridor. His heavy
shoes scuffed loudly across the floor as he went.